Hunted as a game
by TheBatBrain
Summary: There was the one who stalked the night, the one who laughed, the one who destroyed, and the one who reaped. Panem would no be able to recover. Guys this is a lore friendly mass cross-over, taking characters from everywhere I can imagine, and anyone else that you the reader can think of. Rated T because of the violence, torture and drug use. Please review if you like it or not.
1. Chapter 1

**Hunted as a game**

**And now for something utterly, completely, off the scale level of different. For one, this is my first story without being based in Sonic lore. Second this is going (hopefully) to be a much more serious endeavour for me. So much so that I won't be writing as author at the end of this chapter, or in any chapter until the very end of the story. So I'll say now make sure to review and leave compliments or criticism of the chapters. And as a disclaimer nothing which you are about to see written about is mine, only the circumstances are. With that out of the way, here's your big Lore friendly Super-Hero crossover in a hunger games.**

**Chapter one- He who stalks the night**

Brus Wain was one of the most fortunate children in the entire district system. His parents Tomas and Marta, were the two most high ranked people there as the mayoral family of District one. They had money, food out of their ears and safety with the peacekeepers by their side at all times. They weren't shy either, every month they would go to the school and organise a feast for everyone who worked slavishly away. The people of District one was happy with them as the mayoral family. At the time of every game the Wain's would have the same look of thinly veiled sadness and grief at the loss of another child or two children. If one came back the Family would put on a huge celebration for the cameras of the capitol, but after the cameras had been taken away, the Entire district would mourn the one who was lost, and a day of silence would be taken in respect for the family.

Brus was always angry when the lottery for the children came up. Some of them were his age, most of them, he knew. It was no lottery he concluded. A lottery has a prize to be won. No this selection was what he called 'Capitol Roulette' where you risk it every year to stay alive, but the house always wins. Brus was also angry that he couldn't go. If given the chance he would volunteer as tribute for every single one of those who went up, in every district. All this giving up of life, for what? Surely the Capitol had received their revenge with the very first games. Never will Brus take one himself, never; even if he could be put in the games, which he can't do. Apparently he's a 'media darling' and the people of the Capitol would be horrified to have him in the arena. Why is what they think important anyway?

But, life was life, and for most of the year Brus was happy with his life. But as the month of December rolled around...

It was the usual feast affair, but with the added occasion of the end of the year, the feast was turned into a night of revelry and fun. People dancing in the streets hours after the curfew, and that were only because of the peacekeepers joining in. After the stroke of midnight, the Wain family started to return to their home in the District hall, and then a voice came out.

"Hands to your wallets friends." Said a cool slippery voice. "The pearls on the lady first." Tomas Wain turned around, and with all he could muster said a simple "No." He continued with "I don't know who you are, or what you've done, but please leave us alone. At the very least, don't take the pearls."  
"No dice, I need everything you got and I know you can afford it, so do as I say and give me the pearls, then your money now." Brus' father reached for his wallet, and put it in the greedily outstretched hand of the mugger; suddenly Tomas grabbed his arm and pulled him close, head-butting the robber and prepared to punch when...

...The shot echoed off the walls...

Brus was in a complete state of shock, unable to move, as if frozen. Marta Wain meanwhile rushed to the corpse of her husband screaming bloody murder. Then the murderer took his second life of the night, to keep her quiet. The man took the pearls off of her dead body, took her purse and Tomas' wallet. Then looked straight in the eye of young Brus and said with a smirk: "Sorry kid, but that's life for you." He ran off into the winter fog of the street where Brus couldn't see him; it was then that Brus let his emotions show, he collapsed on the floor crying every bit of moisture he could out of his eyes. He was so far gone he had completely missed the fact that peacekeepers had been on the scene since the man started running. Most were worried about apprehending the now wanted convict. But one man saw the crumpled up eight year old on the floor and knelt down, took of his coat and wrapped the boy gently in it. This brought young Brus back into the real world.

He was now in the Peacekeeper building for District one, still clenching the coat and sobbing silently. Everywhere was chaos, the cold murder of the most beloved mayor and his wife that the district, maybe the entire country, had ever had was huge news. The Peacekeepers were busy looking for details at the scene, contacting the Capitol about what to do next, and interrogating the young boy who served as the only witness who saw the man's face. Brus told them everything he could remember, reliving the worst moment of his live over and over again. And now he sat, on a bench in the entrance to the building, hugging the coat on a cold December night.

And then something warm smelling came to his attention, he looked down the hall, and the man who gave him his coat, was there. Smiling a fake, though comforting smile while holding a mug of hot chocolate. He seemed to be a young man but already looked war-beaten, his eyes deep and sincere, a moustache giving him a knowledgeable look. The man sat down next to Brus and offered him the mug. After taking it, the man proceeded to talk. "Are you alright?" Brus shot him a glare. "No need to answer that, stupid question."

Brus then asked the one question the man hoped never to be asked. "Do you know the man, who did it?" The man replied "Yes. He was caught by the bakery owner breaking into the pharmacists. He managed to slip away." "Then why didn't you try to find him?" The man paused for a long time; Brus had more of his drink while staring at the wall. "I... don't know, but I'll tell you this, I promise that I will hunt this man down and make him pay for what he did, to you." The young boy finally stopped looking at the wall to look the man in the face. "What's your name?" He felt that, if this man really was going to dedicate himself to finding his parents killer, he would need to know his name in order to thank him. "Gordon, but you can call me Jym." The boy tried to look him in the eye to say thank you, but his gaze sank to the floor. "Thank you Jym, for the coat, the drink, and... Everything else." Tears started to drip from his face to the floor. "You're welcome. And sorry about everything; including what the other men did to you with the questioning. You shouldn't have been put through all that." With that Jym walked back into the heart of the building, leaving Brus to sit there, crying while drinking a hot chocolate with a coat around him on a cold December night.

**Two years later**

Brus was in the very alley way where his childhood ended. Placing a rose given to him by the new mayor's wife. Life in the district tried to go on. The feasts continued but were much more sober affairs. Brus didn't even bother going to the End-of-year one, instead he came to the alley in remembrance. He had been taken in by one of the former champions Al-Fred, but he preferred everyone to call him 'Pennyworth', as that's what he viewed the average life to be worth since the start of the Hunger Games.

Everyone was very accommodating and respectful of young Brus' privacy. But all Brus wanted to do was to fade away, become a nobody, there had been no improvement over finding the killer. Most assumed that after something this big he had slipped through the fence and was on his way to another district to wreak more havoc, so the general alert had been given and no further fuss had been made.

It was then that Brus heard a voice around the corner. "Where the hell are my drugs?" A whimpering voice could be heard saying "There was... No way... They've tightened everything up after the last raid and..." "Shut up!" The first man shouted in complete fury. "If I don't get my drugs, I get all angry, and then nothing will stop me going after your little angel." Brus filled with anger, he picked up a brick and charged around the corner, throwing it straight at the man's head, it connected and he was down on the floor, blood seeping from both temples. The man who was being threatened looked at the person who saved his life, muttered a petrified "thank you" then ran off.

Brus had just saved a man, and his child presumably, from being killed by a drug addicted lunatic. But at the cost of that lunatic's life. He looked at his hands, and saw blood appearing on them seeping from his very pores. He had just murdered a man. What now separated him from the snake voiced man who murdered his parents? Nothing. Brus remembered his oath from when he was still a child, that he would never kill another human being. How distant that was, but right now he needed it more than ever. This man, who lay dead before him, would be the last life Brus would end. He had no choice.

But the problem was now that he had committed an act of murder. The Peacekeepers would hunt him down and put him up for trial, where the punishment would be death as well. He would have to again follow in the steps of the man who killed his parents by leaving the district if he had a chance of surviving. Quickly he ran back home to the house he had used as home for two years and started to pack anything that would help him out in the wilderness. Pennyworth noticed his young wards strange behaviour but understood what he was doing even if he didn't know why. "Brus... If you intend to leave, I'm coming with you." Brus quickly brushed him off. "No, I go alone." But Al-Fred knew; if he didn't go, the boy would die all too easily. "No Brus, You will need someone there, who can teach you how to survive out of the districts. I'll teach you everything you need to know."

With that, the two were off. The guards were a bit... lax with the fencing around the champions' village in the middle of the day as Pennyworth noted, so they were able to crawl under a gap in the fence and were in the wilderness.

Over the course of the next few months Brus learned everything that a man would need to survive on his own in the wilderness. Setting snares, using a knife and then had to find a way to get an animal at long range. Brus found that a throwing weapon was his forte. Though throughout his crash course in survival techniques, Brus still found himself guilt ridden after he killed the man in the alleyway. It was then that Al-Fred came up with his plan.

"You want to avenge your mother and father, don't you? He asked while the two of them were around a campfire, eating that days gathered food. Brus nodded. "Then you'll have to learn how to fight, and defend yourself." It was then that a whole new training regime began, one of a more violent means. The ten year old learnt how to throw a punch without breaking his own fist, how to kick without losing his balance. Then one day Al-Fred decided to try to teach him moves intended to kill. "No, this is where we must stop. I will avenge my parents' death, but I won't do it taking another life." This was the first time Al-Fred looked at Brus as someone else other than his student. How many years had it been? Brus must be now, what, twelve, thirteen, maybe even fourteen? The years seemed to go by so fast. Instead of the small boy who lay crying at the deaths of his parents, Brus was now a huge young man built out of muscle. Without learning to kill another man, Brus could never survive the way he is. But he held fast, if his student would not learn how to kill, then he would not teach him.

Brus became his own man for the next year. On their journey through the wilderness the two men found an old building before the great disaster that destroyed America. It was a blacksmiths house, with all the tools still there. No electricity, but there was enough wood around to fuel the furnace, and the grinding wheel still had a foot pump. So the two decided to stay there until it would be better to move on. There was a cliff behind the house which led up to plain of edible berries. So first idea of action was getting up it. The blacksmiths had a long coil of rope next to it so Brus took it and got some of the hooks used to hang coats on, which fortunately were steel, after sharpening them with the grinding wheel, he used it as a grapple and found his way up to the top of the cliff easily.

One night, Brus was having another hard time at sleeping. But not because of nightmares or a hard stone floor. But because he was thinking of what to do next. He had learned everything he thought he needed to learn, but still had one dilemma. How to go about avenging his family's death? He couldn't just go around beating up every criminal up as himself. That would be ridiculous, as well as lead to his arrest. No, Brus would need a face to tackle his war against crime. But what face would it be? If he was to become something that criminals would fear, what would it be?

Then the animal came through the window.

A horrible shape and a terrifying shriek. It was perfect to use as his facade. A bat, he will become the bat. And let all those who work against the people fear him.

The next day Brus set to work on his new face. The skins that he and Alfred had used for warmth he fashioned into a cloak and cowl out of the leather. He would need at least light armour to withstand the attacks of those he ends up fighting, but still needs to be able to move. He took the shurikens that he had been using to hunt with and grinded them into the shape of the animal he had adopted. He constructed a belt and put his hook onto a catch on it. The new shurikens, holding the same Bat shape as he himself would, proved to be harder to throw, but perseverance and training held out. Soon Brus was able to hit the bull's-eye of a target going at sprinting pace. Now only stood the amour, thugs weren't going to just attack him with their fists, there would be knives, metal bats, guns. Brus needed a way to withstand those forces. It was then that Brus remembered where he would be defending. "Pennyworth, how difficult would it be to acquire some light peacekeeper armour back in District one?" He asked, expecting a full plan of action of how to break into the barracks. "You can always try the Black Market." He said instead. "It'll be expensive, though with the amount of hide and meat we've gotten, we just might get it." The Black Market, Brus never went there, but had heard about it under very hushed whispers. It was a network that ran through all the Districts; to some, it was the only place they could get anything. The Peacekeepers in some districts had been extremely strict on it. In District eleven, the market didn't exist past a small warehouse. In District one, the Capitol had been hard on it, there could be no real signs of corruption from their darling piece of land, like a favourite child. However the market survived and even thrived there, it was a crutch for many people to live on. If Brus was going to go anywhere, he would need its uses. "That's fortunate. The last thing I'd want to do is stealing from the people who helped me." It was decided then; it was no longer the time of training and hiding from his own home. It was the time to return.

Brus decided to return to the district as himself, there was still penance to be had after killing a man, though the years should've been enough to take the heat off. Instead, he was welcomed home with wide arms; the mayoral family proceeded to invite him to stay as a guest of honour. Brus only felt guilt, he wasn't worthy, but an act had to be held. He accepted and became the bright star of District one again. Al-Fred became a hero after 'saving' him from the dangers of the outside wilderness. And once the Capitol heard of his return, cameras and President Snow himself came in to welcome him back with open arms. The forced smile seemed to work on everyone; he really wanted to leave the guy a heap on the floor, as did everyone else in the crowd.

After a few weeks the drama had died down and the actual serious paper work of his arrival began. Brus was taken to see the new head of the Peacekeepers in the district. Jym Gordon.

"Brus, welcome back!" He said holding the now fifteen year old man. "I just need to go over with you what happened and, well we declared you and Pennyworth dead, so we need you to sign your citizen papers again. Consider it a second birth-certificate." Brus put on his cheery tone again. "Alright Gordon, just tell me where to sign and I'm right there." He and Al-Fred told the story, of how Brus felt suicidal, how he ran into the wild lands, how Al-Fred came to talk him back into his senses and lead him back with a fresh outlook on life. It all checked through, the papers were signed and soon Brus and Al-Fred were back in their old home.

But rest was not given as Brus soon went to the black market to purchase the final step in his transformation, the armour.

He found himself in a small disused cutting shop, where the jewels manufactured by the workers used to be cut and placed into the bracelets, earrings, necklaces etc. It had since been closed after an arson attack during the rebellion stopped its use. He building still stood as it had when it was burned in memoriam of those who died in the fire. Or who the Capitol said had died. Brus walked in, getting strange looks from everyone looking at the man in the sharp suit and was rich enough never to walk in there carting a huge trolley behind him. He went up to the nearest empty stall and asked "Do you know where I could find some... more durable clothing?" He asked and the man tapped his nose and said, "Over at the end, ask for a Mr Fox." Brus walked off after thanking the man with some coin and ended up meeting Mr Fox.

"Mr Wain, to what do I owe the pleasure of the star-child of the district?" Brus leant in and whispered. "I'm looking for some light armour." Fox laughed "So the rich kid's going to get into some rough-housing? It's expensive but I'm sure you have the money don't you?" Brus pulled the trolley around and put his hand on the zip. "Actually I was looking to sell some more practical items, got them while I was out behind the fence." He unzipped the bag slightly so Fox could see all the hides, skins and valuable feathers that the young boy had. "My my seems like you weren't just a kid who needed help, for that much you should be looking for more than just basic peacekeeper armour." Fox led Brus down to the very back of the building and into a basement. "This is where we keep all the most valuable stock, fine jewels, wine, high calibre weapons and armours, all down here." He walked down the side to a big drawer. "And this," he said pulling it open "Is the best thing we have in terms of light armour." It was bright white and a full one piece suit. "We got it in several sizes after the last major dealers' raid during the rebellion. It's an infiltrator suit, best allowing soldiers to slip behind enemy lines and take out outposts and supply depots. All the armours durable, it could break a knife if it hit it square and small calibre bullets would glance off if it wasn't point blank or close range. The one you're seeing now is the snow camouflage version, also comes in jungle, urban and mountain versions, those you'd have to wait for though since we have them in different districts for safety of stock reasons." Brus looked at it, but the colour was all wrong, how to change that? "No this will do fine. I take it the payment would be in order?" Fox laughed slightly. "Mr Wain for that much you could get two, come with me for a second let me show you what else I've got."

He led Brus around the central cabinets, after turning down the guns; Mr Fox produced something a little more to his liking. "Since bullets are out of the question with you how about this?" He produced a rather large pistol shaped device from another drawer. "It's non lethal I assure you, one of a kind actually, built in district three before being sold off to me. The guy I got it from called it an 'ascension gun'. It fires a small grappling hook from its point using compressed air it can suck in from around it, latch onto any surface and pull it's user up. Got rope length of sixty metres because the ropes very thin but extremely durable; I just took to calling it the grapnel gun." Brus liked it a lot, it'd be perfect for quick travel and his old hook didn't reach as far and wasn't as reliable as it. "This then please." Fox nodded and added. "One more thing..." He produced a small helmet from behind him. "This is what the boffins call a 'free-form, virtual reality, assistance helmet'. Or as it's called nowadays 'the do everything helmet or HUD'. The little receiver here's powerful enough to here a mouse breathe from twenty metres. It can scan through a wall and see inside at the people's health condition at the eye piece, has infrared capabilities as well, and can even emit a sonic frequency which can leave all those in the surrounding area with a very big headache, good if you're surrounded." It was good, Brus thought, very good. But how much would it all cost? "How much do you want for that the grapnel and the armour?" Mr Fox smiled "Well that's the real trick isn't it? Tell you what, have a 'back from the dead' discount. All of those you've got there for the armour and the HUD, and I'll give you the grapnel gun absolutely free. No refunds by the way."

Now Brus had all the components he needed. He fitted the HUD inside of his cowl and it fit beautifully, all the functions talked about where there. The armour fit perfectly as well, but was till white. So he got some black paint and covered it, leaving a bat-shaped hole on the chest. "Why leave that open?" Al-Fred asked. "So no one aims at my head, they'll just get the armour." The grapnel gun replaced his old hook on his belt and he was ready for his first night on patrol.

**The first night**

A young couple headed down an alley-way, they always went that way, as it cut their travel time in half on their way home. Then two huge men appeared in front of them. "Don't make no sudden moves alright?" One of them said in a deep, gruff voice. "Just give us yer money and neither you'd be harmed." The couple were terrified, but gave in and gave them their wallets and any other valuables to the muggers, leaving them penniless. But as the two turned around, a black shadow appeared in front of them. "Give them the money back," said a cold unearthly voice. "Or you will find yourself not standing up for a while." The muggers looked at each other, neither one scared yet. "Oh yeah!? And what're you going to do about it pal?" He charged forward and swung a punch, it was grabbed and suddenly the goon found himself flying down the alleyway. The shadow didn't move. The other guy was shocked, and was even more shocked when he found himself flying up into the air after the shadow grabbed him and seemed to fly onto the roof, being held upside down off the side of the building. "I'm going to go soft on you, this time." Said the monster, lit by the moonlight, "But only because I want you to do something for me. I want you to spread the word about me with all your friends, tell them what happened to you." The thug, terrified at this monster spluttered out, "What the hell are you?!" It was then the monster paused dangling his play as if playing with it. What to call himself? The name that arose was simple and elegant, yet terrifying to those he would hunt. "I am the thing that will haunt your dreams; I am the creature that will stalk its prey until you last dying day. For now I am Vengeance, I am one with the night. I am Batman, the one who will hunt you down and stop you." With this he roughly threw the man onto the roof and took all of the stolen items off him. "You and your friend better run, but remember what I told you to do. The thug, once so brave and strong, was now terrified and sobbing like a child; he nodded quickly and ran off. The Batman managed to let a smile slip then jumped down, his cloak slowing his fall and the armour doing the rest, landing in front of the scared couple, who expected him to gloat and take their stuff anyway. He put his hand out with their two wallets and a pocket watch, a family heirloom probably. "Do not be afraid, I am not here to punish the innocent. Let everyone know that they have a new protector, a dark knight." The couple tentatively took their items back, the woman muttering a "thank you." The man looking up and asking him, "But what do we call you?" To the figure now disappearing into the shadows "You will come to know me, as Batman." He turned and blended immediately into the shadows.

Thus the transformation had been complete. Gone was Brus Wain, crying for his parents on a cold December night. Now there was Batman, the one who would protect his home from those who would seek to harm the innocent. The darkest night for injustice had begun.

**End of Chapter One. Next, Chapter Two: The Man who Laughs. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two- the man who laughs**

How long had he been in that cell? How long had he heard the shrieking, and the screaming, and the crying, and the laughing? Who was he before this? Did it matter? For there he was... trapped, like an animal which he might've been. He remembers a factory, jewellery equipment, yes, that he remembered. The shape, the man; oh yes... He definitely remembered him.

The shutters opened, the jabberjays went crazy; throwing every scream they could at him. Did he know these people? It was funny, really, that he, who he presumed was a small time crook who tried to break in on the mother lode, had been put into the worst type of torture the Capitol, yes that's a name, could give him. Funnier, was that the Freak who'd put him in there wasn't.

"Ha... Haha... Hahahahahahahaha! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Above the man, through one-way glass, were two other people, one man, and one woman. The man, huge and imposing put on a very thin smile. "Perfect, this proves my theory excellently wouldn't you say Miss...?" It must've been the third time he had asked this question, he cared not about others who weren't going into is examinations. "Doctor Quinzell. But doesn't this seem a little outdated? The rebellions long since passed, before either of us was born, but you seem to be preparing torture methods in case we ever go to war again." The doctor looked into the heavily made up face of Quinzell. "My fellow doctor, this is no torture tactic, it is in fact a rehabilitation technique. Take one man; completely wipe his mind via this method. Tell him whatever will make him happy and suddenly you have an entirely new man to give to the community." Quinzell looked at the laughing man, she wanted to know who he was; before this madness. It was what he had owned, it felt like theft. "But isn't this completely inhumane? You torture someone, and then just tell them to go out broken like that?" The bigger doctor got slightly angry. "Young lady, this man was a criminal, as soon as he decided to break the law he gave up any rights and humanity he had possessed." Quinzell finally saw why he was called 'Professor Strange' by the other staff. "But still..." He interrupted her. "Not another word. In fact, I want you to personally attend his rehabilitation sessions as councillor."

That very day, the tortured soul was allowed out of his cell for the first time since he could remember and taken into an interview room. Doctor Quinzell arrived shortly afterwards. "Hello." She said; the man looked up at her, still getting used to having any light near his eyes. When he saw her finally, he smirked and let out a wolf-whistle. "Hello nurse." He said giggling; she had not been expecting this. "Doctor actually, Doctor Quinzell, though you can call me Harleyen." The man laughed. "Harleyen? Well, shuffle that around a bit and..." He started laughing, "What? What's so funny?" The man restrained himself. "Oh nothing my dear, just a little joke I had in my head." He wiped the tears from his eyes.

"I've been called down to ask you if you remember anything before you came in here." The man looked at her for a second. Looked at the ceiling for another, then continued, grinning. "Oh I remember every bit of it, before the torture and all." This shocked her, how could he remember after all the time he was in there? "Well, then," She started sputtering. "Could you start from the beginning?" The man put up a finger, "Not yet Doc, a mirror first, then I'll continue. I must know what happened to my face after all this time." She called for a mirror to be brought in and the patient took it, examining himself.

He was a ghostly white, the lack of sun meant he had paled everywhere. The only bit of skin on him that wasn't pale was his eyes; they had gone black from him not sleeping well, if at all over the days, weeks, months even. His eyes themselves were huge and wild, never blinking it seemed; his hair, dark and lifeless. He looked... Horrifying. It was too funny for words to him; he looked like a clown who was going to gut you at any second. He started laughing, giggling at first but built very fast. He started grasping at his head as he doubled over in his fit of laughter, throwing the mirror against a wall, shattering it completely, laughing to the point where he might as well have been screaming.

Harleyen was petrified in fear, but was building up in rage. It was Strange's work that did this, that drove this man insane, and by god, she'd help get him out of it.

After that little episode the two sat down regularly to chat to each other about the patients past. "Well, my father was a big man around town, always full of himself, everyone else, he looked down on. This included me, so whenever I'd step out of line just a little bit. BAM! I'd be out cold..." Doctor Quinzell could hardly believe what she was hearing, the patient continued. "School wasn't much better; I was the small kid who kept coming into school with bruises. I might as well have had a target saying 'beat me up!' So they did, every time I looked at them they'd go ballistic and go for me. Then my dad would get angry that I didn't stand up for myself and I got another beating. Only my mother was any good, but she died when my dad dame back drunk and angry." Harleyen started tearing up, the patient had to force back a smile. "Then it all came to a focal point, my father, who couldn't live with me for a son, tried to throw me off a building, it'd be an open-shut suicide case. But I moved at the last minute and over he went, I heard the crunch as he hit the floor. He was dead, all that torment over." Harleyen was sobbing now. "What, did you do then?" The patient looked up at the ceiling again, then back down and continued his story. "Well, what could I do? I was homeless, without a family to support me I'd be in the mines within the week, so I did the only thing I could do, I became a pickpocket, taking the bits that people wouldn't need and using it for myself. But I couldn't sustain myself on the scraps, I was going to die!" Harleyen was fully immersed in the story. "So I took myself to a jewellers factory, hopefully some of it would still be in there, jewels go for a bit on the black market. Then he appeared..." Harleyen was entranced unable to not listen. "Who?" The patient put on a grim smile, "The Batman... he beat me up mercilessly, as if I had just murdered the president or something. I was a bloody heap on the floor, and then I was taken here. You can put the rest together I'm sure."

Harleyen nearly lost it, how could she have let this happen to such a poor man? It was disgusting; a deep sadness built inside of her, she wanted to take this man, make him better. "Well, you have nothing to fear, I'm here now, for you." The patient grinned, "Thank you, Harley, you don't mind if I called you that?" She shook her head smiling, "No, not at all. But what should I call you? It's been at least a few days, but you've never said your name." The patient did an over dramatic face palm. "How rude of me! My name's Jack..." Was it? Didn't matter what it was now. "... But you can call me... The Joker." He chuckled at his new name. "And with you helping me Doc, why I should be better within the week!" Now it was Harley's turn to laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

The next week did have a lot of improvements, both for the Joker and Harley. Harley managed to get the Joker some supplies he wanted, while she was given huge praise for her work with him. Or so she said.

Then the Friday came around...

"Harley?" The Joker started, during one of the two's private interviews. "Yes Joker?" Harley replied looking into his eyes. "I was thinking, we've been seeing each other for a while now, but only now do I see the truth between us..." Harley raised an eyebrow "What's that?" She asked, now for the real challenge. "Us, like this, doctor and patient; I don't think it can work like this anymore." Harley lent forward. "What do you mean? Do you want to transfer or something?" The Joker lent in as well, so that their faces we're almost touching, a good touch he thought. "No, no I was just thinking if you and I could become something... more." Harley's eyes widened "What I'm trying to say is... I think I love you." The hollow words left a profound effect on the doctor from the Capitol, as she immediately dragged him in for a kiss.

Time for the final stage in the Joker's plan, now that he had a high ranking member of personnel on side. "Harley my dear, there's one last thing that I need." Harley smiled as wide as the Joker. "Anything for you... pudding." The Joker nearly groaned at the nickname. "Good, because I need to get out of here! And only you can help me do it." Harley grew excited. "What is it you need me to do; you say it and I'll do it." Perfect, putty in his hands, like any good stage performance. "Do you think you can find a way to break every one out of their cells at once?" Simple enough. "Yeah, all you need to do is flip the break switch, that gets all the minor patients out, then you flip a few more switches and hey-presto, everyone's running amok."

That night, the general alarm sounded, followed by a shout of "mass patient escapes!", but he was quickly silenced, a few seconds later his door opened; standing there in a red and black outfit was Harley. "Harley my dear, great to see you, like the outfit." Harley laughed, "I finally got why ya found my name funny; Harleyen Quinzell's gone puddin'. Say hello to your brand new Harley Quinn!" The Joker laughed like a kid in a candy store. "Hello, Ms Quinn! I think we should start the day with a stroll out of the grounds!" And the two were off down the corridors of the asylum now in complete bedlam, holding hands and singing nursery rhymes all the way.

Above the anarchy was Professor Strange, looking at his establishment go to hell and smiled, perfect. One of the guards ran up to him. "Professor, the Joker and Doctor Quinzell have escaped, should we send out a retrieval party?" Strange looked away from the scene bellow him. "No Captain, I want you and you men to withdraw to the barracks and await my signal to collect the patients and put them back into their cells." The Captain saluted, "Yes sir, another thing, Snow is on the phone, wanting to know what's going on down here." Damn that ineffectual politician. "Tell him that we had a slight malfunction with the doors but everything will be cleared up by the morning." The Captain saluted again and left the office. Strange turned his back on the chaos and went to his desk, there, he pulled out a file saying 'Jabberjay induced 'rehabilitation'. And marked onto a piece of paper with a photo of a man who strongly resembled the Joker: 'Test subject 30: An Outstanding success'. He put the file away and clicked a button on his desk, and chuckled softly as the facility below him filled with sleeping gas. "Perfect."

**End of chapter two: Next Chapter Three: Contained rage.**


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